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Summary
Despite Beelzebub’s two-week absence, the underlying scent of the house was still their mating bond—lilies on fire, smoked lavender. But it was overlaid with the bitter notes of Gabriel alone.
“Someone’s been a sad little puppy,” they taunted him.
He’d finished unpacking their bag and now he knelt in front of them, cutting the twine around their wrists with the kitchen scissors. “If you don’t like how I smell when you leave, then stop leaving.”